


good game

by bemusedbicycle



Category: Set It Up (2018)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 10:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15629145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedbicycle/pseuds/bemusedbicycle
Summary: He does this for her, sometimes, when she finds herself in a writing rut. He likes to think his incredible sexual prowess is enough to propel her into a fit of productivity, but really he knows it’s just getting her mind off of writing long enough to let herself breathe. [Or, Charlie distracts Harper from her writer's block with sex.]





	good game

She’s wearing her tie-dye robe when he lets himself into the apartment. It’s the one with the frayed sleeves that hits her mid-thigh, the belt a tangled, twisted thing that could easily wrap twice around her waist. It’s actually kind of his favorite, when she has nothing underneath and he can count the freckles just above her knee. But the effect is a little bit lost at the moment, since he’s pretty sure those are - yep, she’s wearing snow pants underneath.

“How’s the article going, Harper?”

She blinks up at him from her screen, the glare of a blank page reflected in her too-wide glasses. There’s honey - or something - making her hair stick to her cheek and he has to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing out loud at this adorable, rumpled woman.

“Fine,” she nods her head, glasses slipping down her nose. “Good. Fine. Great! You know, training camp opens in two days.”

He nods, glances at the stove just to make sure it’s off. There had been an incident with a waffle maker, a plastic bowl of batter, the oven, and a tub of ice cream he’d rather not repeat.

“Yeah, that’s what you keep telling me.”

“And for so many of these guys, you know, this is it. This is like, their moment,” she opens up both hands by her face, palms out, and wiggles her fingers. It would be cute if she weren’t being serious. As it is, with the wide eyes and the snow pants and a neglected bag of gummy bears wedged in between the seat cushions, it’s a little bit terrifying. “They have to go out there, play with their idols, stay healthy, make an impression and deal with all the massive adjustments in their socioeconomic status, while also - “

She continues to prattle on as he moves about the room, picking up wrappers and opening the curtains to let some sunlight in. He nods where appropriate, but knows she’s in such a state now that any sort of comment from him will go largely unnoticed. He kneels down in front of her and puts both hands on her knees, the snow pants crinkling comically beneath his palms.

“Hey, Harper.”

She blinks at him. “Hi.”

He squeezes her knees once. “You haven’t written the article yet, have you?”

Her face crumples. “No,” she presses both palms to her face. “Shit. No. I haven’t.”

“Alright,” he rocks back to his feet and holds out his hands to her. She just stares at him blankly through a gap in her fingers, collapsed against the couch. He jerks his head up once. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” she mutters.

“You need to not be on this couch for a little bit. I’m afraid your skin is going to fuse to the leather.”

She makes a face at him, but takes his hands anyway. They’re cold and covered in something slightly sticky - probably the same mystery substance that’s on her cheek - but her grip is firm. That’s one of the things he loves most about her. She’s never afraid to hold him too tight.

“S’why I’m wearing snow pants,” she mutters petulantly as they wander down the hall to her bedroom. “Cause you made me watch My 600 Pound Life and I had nightmares about my skin becoming attached to inanimate objects.”

“That makes sense,” he soothes, patting her head once. She growls something under her breath and kicks him in the shin. “Alright, alright. Christ. Just - get in there.”

She flops down on her bed and spreads her arms and legs out, staring at the ceiling. “I’m a failure.”

He rolls his eyes and starts to work on her robe belt. It’s not a knot in the traditional sense of the word. More a tangled woven pattern keeping the material pulled tight together. He picks at it with his thumb, leaning forward and using his teeth when the damned thing won’t budge. “You are not.”

She peers down at him. “Why are you eating my robe?”

He spits out a mouthful of cherry red terry cloth. “You know most women would find this sexy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re eating my robe.” She takes off her glasses and tosses them towards her nightstand, missing spectacularly. “And I think we both know I’m not like most women.”

She says in a way that’s far too self deprecating. Paired with the frown on her face, it’s too much of her putting herself down for him to take. So he crawls up the bed until his nose can brush hers, and makes sure she’s looking right at him when he says, “No, you’re not.” with just enough of his heart on his sleeve to get her to smile his favorite smile. The one where she has to bite her lip as she fidgets against him.

“That’s such a line,” she whispers, but her hands are working at her belt, and the  _swish_  of her snow pants against his jeans is oddly arousing.

He does this for her, sometimes, when she finds herself in a writing rut. He likes to think his incredible sexual prowess is enough to propel her into a fit of productivity, but really he knows it’s just getting her mind off of writing long enough to let herself breathe.

Or, not breathe.

Cause she has a tendency to hold her breath when his head is between her legs.

However, it’s only as he’s working teeth marks into the inside of her thigh, snow pants still curled around her left ankle, when he hears her muttering to herself somewhere above his head. He drops his forehead to the jut of her hip, and pinches at her side lightly.

“Harper,” he leans up and looks down at her, miles of pale skin and flushed cheeks. “I’m doing some of my best work here.”

Her eyebrows cinch together, a perfect little wrinkle in her nose. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, you’re good,” he slides his hands over her hips, across her stomach, up to the rise of her breasts. He soothes his thumb over her nipple, watching as it pebbles. Does it again just to hear the way her breath hitches. “Guess I should just try harder.”

She bites her lip, and he traces the fingers of his left hand back down. She’s ticklish around her belly button, and it makes him smile every damn time she jumps. He keeps smiling as he finds the wet heat between her legs, loses it a bit to a moan that answers hers when she chases his touch with her hips.

“Charlie,” she whisper whines, and it’s stupid, really, what it does to him when she says his name like that.

“Mmhmm,” he mutters, her hand curling in his hair as he leans down and presses his tongue against her. Duncan once told him he had super obvious oral sex hair, but he likes the sharp pull at the base of his scalp when he hits a good spot for her - and he’s also walked in on Duncan in literally every sexual position imaginable, so. There are worse things than his roommate knowing he likes to fuck his girlfriend with his mouth.

It takes longer when she’s stressed, but he keeps himself patient, slips two fingers inside her and curls them up when her leg begins to twitch. Soon enough she comes with a gasp of his name, both hands fisted tight in his hair.

He pushes into her before she can come down, the heat of her making him groan something completely unintelligible into the soft skin of her neck. It’s always - it’s never been - he’s never felt anything like this. Not with Suze, not with that bartender down on Fifth, not anyone. Just Harper. Harper and her cold hands against his chest and her legs wrapped around his hips and her eyes soft and sweet and smiling up at him with that stupid smear of something on her cheek.

“You’re pulling my hair,” she mutters with a bite of her lip - a gasp and a groan when he grinds his hips down against hers.

“Shut up, you love it,” he grits back, but shifts his elbow so he’s not quite pulling at her so hard. “You close?”

She shrugs, and honestly, if he didn’t love her so damned much he could throttle her. He sighs.

“You’re impossible,” but still he slips his hand between them, thumbing at her until she shakes and shivers and bucks against him. Her hand circles around his wrist before slipping down to cover his hand with hers and it’s over for him then, cause he can feel her touch against his cock every time he pulls out of her and he’s just -

She’s perfect. She’s always been perfect.

He comes with a grunt and she follows after, her teeth sinking into his collarbone. He’ll have bruises he’ll need to cover up when he goes to the temp agency tomorrow, but it’s worth it. He likes sneaking off to the bathroom and pulling back his collar to see the half-moons worked into his skin.

“Good game,” Harper mutters as he collapses at her side, fist bumping him before snuggling into his chest. She’s half asleep and he has nowhere he needs to be, so he curls his arms around her and lets himself drift.

He wakes up hours later, disoriented and blinking in the bright glow of the laptop propped up against him. Harper is muttering under her breath again, but she’s also typing furiously, and he grins into the pillow, reaching for her skin and curling his fingers around her knee. She stops muttering and brushes a kiss against his temple, whispers thanks and keeps typing.


End file.
